[ Thomas keeps watching as Chris comes closer, shifts a little under the sheets to get his nose clear enough to sniff the air.

(not that he can really smell anything beyond his own sweat and fear and blood)

But then Chris talks about leaving and he jerks up from out of the sheets (no no Chris can't leave he doesn't want to be left alone again why was he left alone) to get closer, wings flaring out behind him.

(he's almost as much of a mess as the room, with sweat dried on his skin and the liquid from the bulge staining his thighs even though it's retracted now)

(there's blood on his claws too)

(blood on his claws and healing cuts across his upper arms and his hips and his stomach, where he'd clawed at himself when the hunger had been at its worst)

Once the sheets are gone though he hesitates, pulling in on himself a little and drawing his tail around himself. ]

Don't--

[ His voice rasps in his throat, and he coughs. ]

Don't leave. Please. Not again.